J.B. Spins

Jazz, film, and improvised culture.

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Whistler ’16: Le Cyclotron

It
is like Michael Frayn’s Copenhagen,
but with more National Socialists. Life had never been as uncertain as it was at
the climax of WWII, during the post-Heisenberg Principle, post-Schrödinger’s
Cat era. For theoretical physicists engaged in espionage, the more they know,
the scarier and less predictable the world looks. Quantum mechanics becomes a
deadly game in Quebecois filmmaker Olivier Asselin’s The Cyclotron (trailer here), which screens during the 2016 Whistler Film Festival.

The
Franco-German Simone Ziegler was once a colleague of Emil Scherrer and very
nearly his lover, but now she works for the resistance. She is to make contact
with the physicist on a train bound for Paris to assess how close he is to
realizing an atomic weapon—and most likely liquidate him based on his response.
However, she unilaterally changes her mission parameters when she learns the rogue
Scherrer wants to defect. He has indeed completed an atomic weapon—a cyclotron—but
on a much smaller scale than the Manhattan Project’s A-bomb.

Unfortunately,
the Gestapo has the drop on Scherrer and they are also pretty sure Ziegler’s
cover story is bogus. The Germans will interrogate them both with the help of
collaborating scientist Helmut König, but Scherrer is not talking and Ziegler
says just enough to create a sense of uncertainty, so to speak.

Le Cyclotron easily represents
the cleverest cinematic use of Schrödinger’s Cat since Ward Byrkit’s Coherence. It is hard to explain outside
of the film, but it is completely convincing in the cinematic moment, which
sounds aptly Heisenbergian. There are also wickedly smart nods towards
relativity and time travel, yet it still functions as an effective espionage thriller,
which happens to be primarily set on a train, for extra genre bonus points.

Mathieu
Laverdière’s mostly black-and-white cinematography (with select passages
rendered in color for effect) is strikingly stylish, in an appropriately noir
kind of way. As a result, in terms of its tone and visual vocabulary, Cyclotron is more closely akin to films
like Kawalerowicz’s Night Trainand
the rotoscoped Alois Nebel.

As
Scherrer and Ziegler, Mark Antony Krupa and co-screenwriter Lucille Fluet do
not look like typical blow-dried romantic co-leads, but that is rather
refreshing. It also means they more convincingly pass for nuclear physicists. Most
importantly, they forge some compellingly tragic, ambiguously romantic
chemistry together.

Admittedly, Asselin has trouble with the ending,
but it is always tricky to stick the dismount when a film has this degree of
difficulty. Regardless, he earns enough credit for his ambition and
inventiveness to compensate. Highly recommended for fans of film noir, science
fiction, and post-modern cinema, Le
Cyclotron screens this Saturday (12/3) and Sunday (12/4) as part of the
Whistler Film Festival in British Columbia.

Culver City ’16: Women of Maidan

Their
ranks included Ruslana Lyzhychko, the first Ukrainian Eurovision song contest
winner, and babushkas from the provinces. Women disproportionately answered the
call during Ukraine’s Maidan Square protests, because they found the Russian-backed
regime’s use of force against peacefully demonstrating students simply
unacceptable. According to Putin and the gullible media, they were also largely
neo-Nazi nationalists. Of course, that was a libelous lie, as viewers can
easily discern when watching Olha Onyshko’s Women
of Maidan (trailer
here),
which screens during the 2016 Culver City Film Festival.

In
retrospect, unleashing the paramilitary Berkut forces on orderly protesting
students in November of 2013 was the Yanukovych Gang’s biggest mistake. It unleashed
a sleeping giant: Ukraine’s mothers and grandmothers, who quickly filled the
square to protect the nation’s “children.” Like many of the demonstrators, Onyshko
arrived soon after the first brutal attack and quickly settled in for a long
siege.

It
is amazing how thoroughly the Euromaidan protests have been covered by
documentarians, yet Putin’s disinformation campaign has still been so
insidiously successful. If it were really an expression of anti-Semitic
nationalism, one would think there would be signs peeking through Onyshko’s
footage or that of Evgeny Afineevsky’s Winter on Fire, or Andrew Tkach’s Generation Maidan, or Sergei Loznitsa’s observationally immersive Maidan, but that just was not the case. However, probably no
previous doc (except perhaps Dmitriy Khavin’s post-Maidan Quiet in Odessa) so thoroughly discredits such slander as Women of Maidan.

Onyshko
talks to a wide cross-section of the women at the Square, none of whom come
across as ideologues of any stripe. In case after case, they are simply moved
by a desire to see a better future for younger generations. They are fed up
with Yanukovych’s corruption and deeply skeptical of his chumminess with Putin—especially
those who lost family members during the Holomodor, Stalin’s deliberate terror
famine.

Women
of Maidan is a necessary corrective
to lingering Russian propaganda and an inspiring chronicle of a concerted
grassroots campaign to protect Ukrainians’ constitutional rights.
Unfortunately, Onyshko probably overstates her case when she heralds the Revolution
of Dignity as a victory for humanistic matriarchal values over patriarchal
oppression. Alas, Putin remains firmly committed to patriarchy and nobody seems
to have a plan to deal with him. Regardless, it remains a film of great merit and
journalistic integrity. Running an easily manageable sixty-six-minutes, Women of Maidan is very highly
recommended for general viewers as well as feminists and foreign policy hawks
alike, when it screens this Saturday (12/3), at the Culver City Film Festival.

Tuesday, November 29, 2016

ADIFF ’16: Gang of the French Caribbean

In
the 1970s, there was a demand for postal money orders. That meant post offices
often carried considerable sums of cash on-hand, yet they did not have the same
level of armed protection common to banks. Being a symbol of the French
government made them even more desirable targets for the disillusioned Jimmy Larivière
and his gang. For a while they live high and feel empowered, but internal
divisions and external pressures will inevitably lead to bloodshed in
Jean-Claude Flamand-Barny’s Gang of the
French Caribbean (trailer
here),
which screens as the centerpiece of the 2016 African Diaspora International Film Festival in New York.

Like
many colonial immigrants from the French Antilles, Larivière feels like the
victim of a bait-and-switch, falsely promised serious job-training by the
Bureau for the Development of Migration in the Overseas Departments, but only
offered menial employment on arrival. Unlike many disillusioned French
Caribbean migrants, Larivière channels his frustration, falling in with a team
of armed robbers led by the aptly named Politik.

Politik
talks a good radical game and he has connections to radical separatist organizations
back in the French Antilles. Unfortunately, he is also loyal to a fault with
respects to the gang’s weakest link: Molokoy, a heroin addict would-be pimp
deeply in debt to Algerian white slavers. Molokoy’s erratic behavior, simmering
resentment, and cowardly violence make him a ticking time-bomb. Larivière also
has his own long-term problems, including Nicole, a progressive former resident
of Martinique, who recognized him during his first hold-up.

Gang follows a familiar
gangster rise-and-fall trajectory, but the 1970s period details are spot-on. Indeed,
it captures all the chaos and confusion of the era with a good deal of
subtlety. Larivière’s semi-protective relationship with Molokoy’s Algerian
prostitute and the French Algerian military veteran (played by Mathieu
Kassovitz), who in turn protects him from the Algerian gangsters seeking to
reclaim her are particularly intriguing. Of course, there is plenty of
anti-colonial messaging, but Flamand-Barny wraps those bitter pills in easy to
digest action.

As
Larivière, Djedje Apali broods like nobody’s business, while Adama Niane just
radiates bad vibes as Molokoy. Eriq Ebouaney also sets off plenty of alarm
bells as the slick and vaguely sinister Politik. Whenever those three circle
each other, we expect fireworks to follow shortly. Kassovitz makes the most of
his all too brief experience as the shotgun-wielding café proprietor Romane
Bohringer brings dignity and dimension to Nicole, one of the few female
characters who is not largely stereotyped.

Although Gang
is just ninety easily-manageable minutes, it feels pretty epic. Fittingly, Larivière
and company namecheck the self-styled revolutionary gangster Jacques Mesrine,
because the film would make an apt triple-feature with the Vincent Cassel Mesrineduology. Recommended for fans of
historical gangster films, Gang of the
French Caribbean has its red carpet gala screening this Saturday (12/3)
during the 2016 ADIFF.

SiREN: Lily the Demon Returns

Seriously,
the last time a movie bachelor party ended with everyone happy, it probably
starred Tom Hanks and Tawny Kitaen. This will be no exception. A demon like
Lily (a.k.a. Lilith) is uniquely suited to punish the kind of boorish horndog
behavior often witnessed during stag nights. You will remember her and her
eerily wide eyes from the “Amateur Night” story arc in the original V/H/Sfilm. Lily is back, so no
lecherous men are safe in Gregg Bishop’s SiREN
(note
the capitalization, trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Jonah felt duty-bound to make his
ragingly irresponsible brother Mac his best friend rather than his real best
friend Rand. That is how they wound up in a divey strip club on the Redneck
Riviera. On a tip from a suspicious fellow patron, Mac drags the stag party to
an Eyes Wide Shut-style sex club way out
in the sticks. This seems to be more what he had in mind, except maybe too much
so. Still, the four dudes probably could have made it out unscathed if Jonah
had not decided to play hero.

He is convinced Lily, the peepshow
girl, whose song can literally you-know-what with your mind is being held there
against her will, as is indeed the case. However, he does not realize she is a
demon. Much like the “Howling Man” episode of The Twilight Zone, Jonah and his friends will have to deal with the
implications of his actions, but for them it will be far more personal. Mr.
Nyx, the flamboyant club proprietor well-versed in the occult is much less
forgiving than John Carradine’s Brother Jerome. On the other hand, Lily rather
takes a shine to Jonah, in a demons-mate-for-life kind of way.

Frankly, the non-found footage SiREN is not nearly as intense as the constituent anthology film
that spawned it. While it lacks the Poe-like concentration of mood and building
intensity, the feature is more about attitude and grungy southern-fried exploitation
elements. There is also some very strange business having to do with the
transference of memories (both as a method of payment at the club and a means
of sending Jonah a message he will never forget) that distinguishes SiREN from other seductive succubus
films.

SiREN
is
fortunate to have Hannah Fierman reprising the role of Lily. She is massively
fierce, but also weirdly vulnerable. Justin Welborn (Southboundand V/H/S Viral)
also has a creepy Paul Williams-from-Hell thing going on as Mr. Nyx that fits
right in with the film’s dramatic tone. Brittany S. Hall is sufficiently intriguing
and genre-friendly as Ash, the Medusa-haired memory-extracting bartender Ash,
she could conceivably takeover the pseudo-franchise. Plus, Chase Williamson (John Dies at the End) and Hayes Mercure
make surprisingly compelling average Joes in over their heads.

Fierman is just an electric
presence, who powers the film through a swampy mid-section. We have seen most
of these elements before, but she is something else. Recommended for fans of
Fierman and her V/H/S character, SiREN opens this Friday (12/2) in New
York, at the Cinema Village.

Monday, November 28, 2016

Ringo Lam’s Sky on Fire

There
is a great deal of deliberate confusion regarding non-controversial adult,
amniotic, umbilical, and pluripotent stem cell treatments and the hot-button
issue of embryonic stem cells. Ringo Lam is about to muddy the waters even
further. “Ex-stem cells” (or super-stem cells, depending on the translation)
are the Macguffin of his latest action film. What are Ex-stem cells? They are
extra-special and can apparently cure cancer just by looking at it. Where do
they come from? Essentially from the late Prof. Poon’s missing research
journal. The private Sky One clinic is carrying on his work, but his protégés
have very different goals in Lam’s Sky on
Fire (trailer
here),
which opens this Friday in New York.

After
losing his wife to cancer, Chong Tin-po considers his work as chief of security
for the Sky One clinic a personal calling. It is a big job protecting the Mainland
skyscraper facility, but he is a hardnosed kind of guy. However, the events
that follow the theft of a shipment of Ex-stem cells shakes his faith in the
clinic director, Tong Wing-cheung, who sends along some suspiciously thuggish
back-up for the recovery operation. Chong also cannot help feeling for Chia-chia
and his step-sister Jen. They came from Taiwan seeking treatment at Sky One for
her late-stage cancer, but threw their lot in with the hijackers when the
clinic gave them the run around. At least Chong still trusts Gao Yu, Tong’s
estranged wife and partner, who also studied under the murdered Prof. Poon.

Arguably,
Sky is over-stuffed with supporting
characters and the ending is supposed to be cathartic, but it is highly
problematic from a moral-ethical perspective, if you think about it for more
than two seconds. On the plus side, Daniel Wu pretty much puts the world on
notice he can take all the steely cool-as-Elvis action protagonist gigs Andy
Lau is aging out of, ever so disgustingly gracefully. As Chong, Wu broods,
runs, and fights convincingly and looks good doing it.

Zhang
Jingchu also adds some tragic grace as Gao Yu, even developing some
tantalizingly ambiguous chemistry with Wu. Joseph Chang Hsiao-chuan and Amber
Kuo are enormously likable as the Taiwanese step-siblings, but she really ought
to look for a good action role (like fellow Tiny
Times co-star Mi Yang throwing down in Wu Dang), or risk getting type-cast as a cute but passive victim.

Call me a hand-wringer, but it really seems like
the conclusion holds massively conspicuous implications Lam just ignores. Yet
he can get away with it, because deftly turned action sequences always trump
pedantry—and Lam still proves he has the master’s touch. Recommended despite
the nagging issues for fans of Lam and the popular cast, Sky on Fire opens this Friday (12/2) in New York, at the AMC
Empire.

ADIFF ’16: Hogtown

When
writing about the disappearances of Toronto theater magnate Ambrose Small and
author Ambrose Bierce, Charles Fort (as in “Fortean”) wondered if someone was “collecting
Ambroses.” Maybe they should have looked in Chicago. That is where Daniel
Nearing relocates Small (now Greenaway), using his case in much the same way
Doctorow employed the Henry K. Thaw-Stanford White murder in Ragtime. In 1919, Prohibition was not
yet the law of the land, but Chicago was already a dangerous place. African
American police detective DeAndre Son Carter has a unique vantage point on the
city’s vice and violence in Daniel Nearing’s Hogtown (trailer
here),
which screens during the 2016 African Diaspora International Film Festival in New York.

Soon
after making racist complaints about Chicago’s demographic trends, the
missing-presumed dead Greenaway was last seen trudging to points unknown in the
snow. Suspicion will logically fall on his wife and the company account, who
seem to be surprisingly close. However, the mystery remains unsolved. It would
be quite a coup if Carter could deliver the killer. Consequently, he devotes
quite a bit of time to the case, but the direction it takes will become awkward
for him. Meanwhile, he pursues a romance with a woman who might even be more
damaged than himself.

Like Ragtime, the presently and
future famous walk in and out of Hogtown,
especially the somewhat PTSD-rattled Ernest Hemingway and his soon to be
estranged mentor, Sherwood Anderson. The privileged and the marginalized both
have their roles to play. In the case of Herman Wilkins, it is the dual role of
Carter and homeless Marquis Coleman, an unusual casting strategy that is not
exploited in an Adrian Messenger way for
novelty’s sake. In both cases, Wilkins is a raw and seething presence, who commands
the screen.

Arguably,
he is the only one who really has a chance to shine, because most of the
supporting women get most of their screen time during stilted sex scenes, while
the rest of the men are either decidedly minor players or somewhat caricatured,
like Alexander Sharon’s gawky Hemingway.

Frankly,
Nearing’s style would overwhelm all but the most forceful thesps, which clearly
does not include Wilkins. Somewhat akin to the visions of Guy Maddin, Nearing’s
black-and-white fantasia freely blends history with fiction, but it lacks the
postmodern playfulness of the Canadian auteur. Nearing also has a tendency
towards static tableaux, relying on voiceovers and intertitles to handle much
of the heavy lifting exposition and storytelling chores.

Nearing
and producer Sanghoon Lee earn high marks for some absolutely arresting
cinematography, but the hollowness of their visuals sometimes tries our
patience. There are only so many interior monologues a film can offer up,
before risking charges of pretentiousness. Hogtown
goes well past that point.

Look, at least Nearing is trying for something.
He goes for broke and face-plants several times. Yet, some of the shortfalls could
have been softened during the editing process. Stylish to an extreme fault, Hogtown might interest patrons who
appreciate the idiosyncrasies of the micro-budget scene when it screens this
Friday through Tuesday (12/2-12/6), as part of this year’s ADIFF.

Old Stone: China’s Hit-and-Run Mentality

China’s
legal system is not concerned with right and wrong. It is about winning and
losing. Currently, everyman cab-driver Lao Shi (“Old Stone”) is losing—badly.
Thanks to a drunken passenger, Lao Shi accidentally hits a motorcyclist.
Instead of killing him, he merely renders the victim comatose. Due to cruelly
ironic laws, Lao Shi would have been better off striking him dead, as many
people will callously and condescendingly explain to him. Doing what seems like
the right thing has dire consequences in Canadian-Chinese filmmaker Johnny Ma’s
feature-length debut, Old Stone (trailer here), which opens this
Wednesday in New York.

Of
course, Lao Shi’s unruly fare bails at the first sign of trouble, leaving the
cabbie holding the bag. He attracts a large circle of bystanders, but the cops
are troublingly slow to arrive. Fearing the man will die without treatment, Lao
Shi drives him to the hospital himself. Unfortunately, he was probably correct.
To make matters worse, by leaving the scene of the accident, Lao Shi violated
established procedure, giving his insurance company and employer an excuse for
abandoning him.

Now
Lao Shi is likely on the hook for the man’s lifelong rehabilitation. The cabbie’s
calls to his victim’s wife (representing himself as a hospital employee) only stoke
his sense of guilt and responsibility. However, as his boss and former army
comrade, the “Captain,” makes clear, Lao Shi is on his own—and if he cannot
come to an arrangement with the victim’s family, his financial obligation will
be transferred to his family after his death. He probably is not so worried
about his domineering wife Mao Mao, but his beloved daughter is another matter.

Truly,
no good deed goes unpunished in Old Stone.
What starts out as a gritty social issue drama evolves into a coal-black noir
thriller, sort of like Blood Simple as
reconceived by Jia Zhangke. Yet, the evolution is imperceptibly smooth, because
the life-and-death stakes are always readily apparent. Ma’s execution is tight,
taut, and tense, but Chen Gang (better known for his TV work) is remarkably
compelling as Lao Shi. His haunting face serves as a barometer, registering all
the pressure and humiliation bearing down on him.

In
starkly contrasting support, Chinese indie producer Nai An is all kinds of
fierce as Mao Mao, while Jia regular Wang Hongwei is a coolly sinister presence
as the Captain. Together, they are everything Chen’s Lao Shi is not.

It is amazing how each successive narrative
development manages to be simultaneously shocking yet also scrupulously logical.
Clearly, Ma’s film is deeply informed by the well-publicized hit-and-run deaths
of two-year-old Wang Yue and five-year-old Yan Zhe (often compared to the Kitty
Genovese case, except their shocking circumstances are demonstrably true), but
with the victim raised to adult age. Obviously, such a revision is less
off-putting, but it also ultimately allows Ma more opportunities to critique
societal attitudes. Tough, smart, and altogether riveting, Old Stone is highly recommended for anyone who appreciates
independent film when it opens this Wednesday (11/30) in New York, at the IFC Center.

Sunday, November 27, 2016

ADIFF ’16: Gurumbe. Afro-Andalusian Memories

Spain
had slaves. This is not exactly front page news to anyone who knows a thimble full
of Cuba’s colonial history. However, it has been conveniently forgotten on the
Iberian Peninsula, where there was also plenty of slave-holding on European
soil. In that context, amateur musicologists will not be surprised to learn African
music forms helped shape the development of flamenco. Academics and musicians
examine the legacy of Spain’s deliberately forgotten slave trade and its
resulting cultural impact in M. Angel Rosales’ Gurumbé. Afro-Andalusian Memories (trailer here), which screens during
the 2016 African Diaspora International Film Festival.

When
historian Aurelia Martín Casares started researching slavery in Spain, she was
told it never existed, but she unearthed over 2,500 slave deeds of sale just during
the time she was working on her thesis. It turns out there was an extensive
slave trade conducted within Spain proper, largely localized within the port
cities of Seville and Cadiz, which of course, were major centers of Andalusian society.
According to one on-screen expert, Spanish slavery even pre-dates the African
trade, trafficking slaves from Caucasia (as in Southeast Europe into Eurasia)—a
provocative historical episode that remains under-examined in culture and
academia.

Of
course, it is easy to hear the influence of African poly-rhythms in flamenco,
if you listen for it. Viol da gamba virtuoso Fahmi Alqhai takes the discussion
a step further, illustrating how traditional African musical forms also inspired
the syncopation of baroque music through his catchy arrangement of Gaspar Sanz’s
“Canarios.”

There
are a number of musical performances in Gurumbé,
but the tone of the film is surprisingly measured, authoritative, and at times
something close to academic. As a result, it is highly credible and convincing.
Rosales and his experts certainly make the case Spain remains in denial with
respect to its national history as a slave owning and trading country. Indeed,
some commentators parenthetically note with irony how Spain is only too willing
to revisit the crimes of the Franco era, yet it refuses to face up to earlier
national controversies.

There is some lovely singing and dancing in Gurumbé and a whole lot of awkward
truth. Frankly, Rosales is pitching the material at a higher level than causal
viewers might expect, but it is a good thing that he refuses to under-estimate
his audience. Recommended for those with a serious interest in Andalusian
culture and music, Gurumbé. Afro-Andalusian
Memories screens this Thursday (12/1) and Sunday (12/11), as part of this
year’s African Diaspora Film Festival.

Saturday, November 26, 2016

Vanishing Time—A Boy Who Returned: Kids Grow Up Fast in Korean

He
is like an inverse Rip Van Winkle for K-Pop kids. For fifteen years, Sung-min
grew older while everyone else stood still. Tragedy will be inevitable when he
finally rejoins the world around him—especially since this is a Korean film.
Think of it as Stand By Me crossed
with Il Mare. That probably sounds
terrible, but the elements come together surprisingly nicely in
director-screenwriter Uhm Tae-hwa’s Vanishing
Time: A Boy Who Returned (trailer here), now playing in New York.

Oh
Su-rin (she prefers Park Su-rin) has had a hard go of it lately. Mere months
after remarrying, her mother was killed in a car wreck. Still, processing her
grief, she has moved to a remote provincial island with the step-father she
hardly knows. Despite her trouble making friends, she attracts the attention of
Sung-min, a spirited classmate who lives in the local orphanage. Their friendship
steadily evolves into puppy love, until destiny intervenes.

One
fateful day, Su-rin accompanies Sung-min and two of his bratty friends on an
ill-advised excursion into the woods. There they find a glowing egg-shaped
object, which stops time for Sung-min and his two pals when they break it.
Having returned to the cave to retrieve a dropped hair pin, Su-rin is exempt
from the egg’s effects. Initially, the time-stoppage is fun for the kids, but
it gets awkward when they realize some items do not work outside of normal time—like
asthma inhalers. After aging fifteen years, normal time restarts for Sung-min,
but as a strange sad-eyed adult claiming to be one of the three missing
children, he becomes the chief suspect in their disappearance. The still twelve-year-old
Su-rin also faces ostracism and possibly worse danger for helping him.

This
really is the sort of eat-your-heart-out, done-over-by-unjust-karma movie the
Korean film industry truly excels at. You also have to give Uhm ample credit
for side-stepping the potential creepiness of their sudden age differential. Basically,
they go from handholding crushes to big brother-little sister, more or less.
There are no red flag scenes, but there are generous helpings of angst and
regret.

Young
teen Shin Eun-soo (reportedly now a K-Pop star in training) is just terrific as
Su-rin. Her range and subtle expressiveness are absolutely remarkable. Lee
Hyo-je is also unusually charismatic as young Sung-min, making his eventual
disappearance from Su-rin’s life so dashed heart-breaking. Those kids make a
ridiculously cute couple, but Shin still develops some poignant chemistry with
model-turned-romantic-lead Kang Dong-won (doing some of his best work).
However, what really makes the film are veteran character actors Kim Hee-won
and Kwon Hae-hyo as the flawed but very human step-father and lead police
investigator, respectively.

Vanishing
is well-served by its verdant but foreboding
island locations, which probably have a vibe much like the Hudson Valley in
Washington Irving’s day. It is all very bittersweet, yet ultimately quite
satisfying. Recommended with a good deal of affection, Vanishing Time: A Boy Who Returned is now playing in New York, at
the AMC Empire.

Friday, November 25, 2016

Miss Sloane to You

Traditionally,
the knock on lobbyists as a professional class is their lack of principles.
They are the worst sort of mercenaries, who will rep any cause if the price is
right. However, when Miss Elizabeth Sloane decides to turn her back on the
corporate work fighting government regulation that she genuinely believes in,
just to prove her mettle passing a Brady-style gun control bill, it is
presented as an act of heroism. Frankly, if you are inclined to pedantry you won’t
get past the first act of John Madden’s smugly self-righteous Miss Sloane (trailer here), which opens today
in New York.

Miss
Elizabeth Sloane is supposed to be a throwback to the sort of professional
characters Joan Crawford played back in the day. She is a sharp-dressed,
salty-talking, emasculating woman who thrives in a male-dominated sphere. She
will crusade against a bill she sinisterly dubs the “Nutella tax,” but much to
her boss’s surprise, she actually believes in more firearm regulation, more or
less. After belittling her firm’s new gun rights client, Miss Elizabeth Sloane
up and leaves, taking most of the junior staff with her to the “boutique”
lobbying firm (code for liberal) founded by earnest do-gooder Rodolfo Schmidt
(even she makes fun of that name).

To
pass their bill, Miss Elizabeth Sloane’s team will need sixty votes to overcome
a possible filibuster. Of course, they have a fraction of that. However, Miss
Elizabeth Sloane will use her former firm’s tactics against them. Her ethics
are atrocious, but Schmidt is impressed with her results. Yet, he will draw the
line when she coolly and calculatingly exploits the personal history of Esme
Manucharian, a junior associate at the firm, who survived a school shooting in
her teen years.

If
you want an example of the “bubble” Saturday
Night Live suggested American liberals live in, Miss Sloane would be exhibit A. It is highly doubtful Madden and
screenwriter Jonathan Perera has ever talked to a gun owner or Second Amendment
activist. (If they are just a gaggle of stupid jowly men, why do they keep winning?)
Indeed, the film is just rife with awkward ironies after the recent election.
Why, oh why the filmmakers must wonder are those Red State denizens not
convinced when liberals like Sloane and Schmidt talk down to them, as they pat
themselves on the back? None of this dialogue rings true. Rather, it reflects the
prejudices Perera projects on those he does not agree with and gives Chastain
the sort of zingy one-liners he wishes he heard more often on MSNBC.

Ironically,
the one place Miss Sloane works are
the scenes the lobbyist shares with her gigolo, Forde. Actually, he is the new
guy the agency keeps sending over, which she is not thrilled about, because it
slightly alters the tightly structured life she has arranged for herself. In
these very adult sequences, Jessica Chastain shows intriguing flashes of
vulnerability as Miss Elizabeth Sloane, nicely playing off and with Jake Lacy
as the not-as-dumb-as-he-looks Forde.

As
the campaign progresses, we watch one phony twist after another, each of which
proves just how much smarter and morally superior Miss Elizabeth Sloane is compared
to her competition. This is exactly the sort of blatantly obvious manipulation
that left the old media’s reputation in tatters. Chastain does not help matters
either, playing her congressional hearings as if Nicole Kidman’s climatic
speech in Grace of Monacowas just too
blasted subtle (and logical). So much for that unshakable professional
exterior.

In a better alternate universe, there is a
superior Miss Sloane made in the late
1950s. It stars Jerry Lewis as the mailroom boy who carries a torch for Miss
Elizabeth Sloane (Oh, Miss Sloane!), played by Phyllis Kirk. However, he is
also a secret NRA member. When he saves Miss Sloane by blowing a stalker to
Kingdom Come, she changes her mind on guns, but it is still bittersweet for
Lewis, because she falls in love with Schmidt instead (played by Martin
Milner), with whom she marries and moves to Idaho, starting a business selling
refurbished vintage firearms at gun shows. Sadly, that rather silly Miss Sloane is not nearly as ridiculous
as the version we have in our universe. The one we are stuck with is just an
eye-rolling, face-palming viewing experience. Not recommended, not even for its
unintentional giggles, Miss Sloane opens
today (11/25) in New York, at the AMC Lincoln Square.

Hadzihalilovic’s Evolution

Even
though Nicolas has probably never seen Patrick McGoohan’s The Prisoner, he can tell there is something wrong with his island village.
It is just too picturesque. The demographics are also wrong. There are no men
and no girls—just single mothers and their pale young sons. He will start to
suspect something is seriously wrong in Lucile Hadžihalilović’s Evolution (trailer here), which opens
today in New York.

It
rather disturbs Nicolas when he spies what looks like the corpse of a dead
little boy with a bloody starfish on his chest while diving, but his mother
dismisses it as a trick of the light. Naturally, the other kids are quick to
mock him, but it awakens inklings of suppressed memories and a growing sense of
paranoia within the sensitive lad. When he follows his mother one night, he gets
an eyeful of some very cult-like behavior. Not long after, he is admitted to
hospital, ostensibly to treat the chronic condition he was supposedly born with,
but by this time Nicolas doubts everything he is told.

Evolution represents the most
demanding, high end of the genre movie spectrum. Superficially, it might sound
like it shares a kinship with movies like Village
of the Damned, but films like Picnic
at Hanging Rock and the work of Jodorowsky are closer cousins. It is all
about visuals and atmosphere, rather than thrills and chills. At this point, it
might also be helpful to point out Hadžihalilović has collaborated with New French
Extremity filmmaker Gaspar Noé. Neither is excessively prolific, but when they
do make films, they get somebody’s money’s worth.

There
is no question Evolution looks terrific.
Cinematographer Manuel Dacosse (whose work includes Alleluiaand The Lady in the Car with Glasses and a Gun) definitely got the memo regarding Hadžihalilović’s
inspiration from surrealist painter Giorgio de Chirico. He just soaks up the
black volcanic sand and stark white stucco buildings. The Lanzarote locales are
just stunning, but the darkly sinister film is not likely to inspire a sudden
crush of tourism.

With
narrative and character development already taking a backseat to the unsettling
vibe, the ultra-reserved cast are largely overwhelmed by Hadžihalilović’s
auteurist filmmaking. Despite being the focal point, Max Brebant’s Nicolas
practically evaporates into the scenery, just like the rest of the young
supporting players. Julie-Marie Parmentier makes a somewhat stronger impression
as the creepily oedipal mother (but just whose mother, we cannot say for sure).

At just over eighty-minutes, Evolution is a relative shorty, but it
is such a mood piece, it probably would have been more effective if it were
even more concise and compact. It is a dramatic departure from the films
typically released under the IFC Midnight banner, but Hadžihalilović’s
aesthetic is apparently too tripped out for the general IFC and Sundance
Selects imprimaturs. The careful craft that went into the film is impressive, but
it will make traditional midnight movie audiences antsy. Respectfully recommended
for cineastes with a taste for body horror, Evolution
opens today (11/25) in New York, at the IFC Center (with screenings
throughout the day).

Thursday, November 24, 2016

Patria o Muerte: The Fatherland, as it is

If
there is one country that has less faith in the Communist Party than China, it
would have to be Cuba. They have all of the social inequities associated with
China’s extreme income disparity, but the exploitation is seemingly reserved exclusively
for foreign tourists. Of course, it is not like Cubans haven’t had revolutionary
theory explained to them. For decades, they have endured Fidel Castro’s interminable
speeches. Those diatribes produced the hollow slogan adopted as the ironic title
of Olatz López Garmendia’s revealing documentary Patria o Muerte: Cuba, Fatherland or Death(trailer here), executive produced by Julian Schnabel, which
premieres this coming Monday on HBO.

Strictly
speaking, Garmendia (second wife of Schnabel, who directed her in Before Night Falls) takes the
observational approach, observing many average Havanans in their homes and
listening to their complaints. However, her desperately poor subjects have so
much to say and their situations are so precarious, the film never feels like a
Wisemanesque fly-on-the-wall experience. Very few of them even bothers talking
about freedom anymore. That is long gone. Their thoughts are solely concerned with
day-to-day, hour-to-hour survival.

We
meet Mercedes, whose family risks their lives every day just by living in their
(literally) crumbling building. They know it is only a matter of time before it
collapses (her son was already hospitalized by a floor cave-in), but they have
no other place to go. A thirty-eight-year-old street vendor would understand.
He says he feels like a teenager because he still lives with his parents, but
there is no chance he could find or afford his own apartment given his
circumstances.

Occasionally,
some Havanans express frustration with the lack of intellectual and artistic
freedom, such as Yoani Sanchez and Renaldo Escobar, dissident bloggers in a
country that forbids the internet. However, for average Cubans, it is more a
matter of being denied one of the most convenient tools of the Twenty-First
Century.

Anyone
who stills thinks Obama’s overtures to the Castro regime will materially
improve their lot should be quickly disabused by the work of Garmendia and her
crew, particularly cinematographer Claudio Fuentes Madan, who is seen getting
arrested (violently) for protesting on the day of Obama’s state visit. He also
does nice work behind the camera, evocatively framing each interviewee and their
[barely]-living spaces. Through his lens, we get a visceral sense of just how
oppressive life in Cuba really is—for all but the Party pinnacle of privilege.

Patria o Muerte does not
white-wash or sugar coat any of its subjects’ reality. Yet, it is not a
spirit-crushing viewing experience, in part due to its eclectic but very upbeat
Cuban soundtrack (even including old school Benny More). It just serves up one
harsh dose of truth after another, but it washes it down with some rich Afro-Cuban
derived or inspired rhythms. In fact, there is an elusive, haunted and decrepit
beauty to the city and its people that comes out clearly in every frame of the one-hour
film. Very highly recommended, Patria o
Muerte: Cuba, Fatherland or Death debuts this coming Monday (11/28) and
hits HBO On Demand the next day.

Behind “The Cove”—A Rebuttal of Sorts

Taiji
in Japan’s Wakayama Prefecture is a picturesque coastal village, filled with shrines
and nautical museums. It is hard to imagine going there with the express
intention of acting belligerent and aggressive, but people do. Their motivations
are simple: money and self-righteousness. Ever since the release of Louie
Psihoyos’ Oscar-winning documentary, The
Cove (the one about the dolphin drive hunt), the village of approximately
3,500 people has been over-run with environmental activists looking to make a
name for themselves and keep their donors’ funding flowing. It has become an
ugly scene that ought to be exposed for the world to judge. Unfortunately,
something apparently gets lost in the translation for Keiko Yagi’s scattershot
rebuttal documentary, Behind “The Cove:” The
Quiet Japanese Speak Out (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

The
word “disorganized” does not even begin to describe the case Yagi haphazardly lays
out. By far, the most compelling revelations concern the behavior of the
throngs of environmental protesters, particularly that of the explicitly
confrontational Sea Shephard. Yagi captures footage of them clearly trying to
intimidate villagers, but their casual disrespect for holy shrines is perhaps
even more problematic. This is the sort of material that would really make their
supporters squirm, if it were presented in a more structured manner.

Fortunately,
she strikes pay dirt with her interview of Simon Wearne of Wakayama University,
who happened to be a cameraman on Animal Planet’s Whale Wars I. Wearne cautions viewers not to take the show as
gospel, because he knows what footage did not survive the editing war. He also puts
the Japanese whaling industry in perspective, explaining how it was always
sustainable. It was just wasteful western whaling that ruined it for the rest
of the world.

It
is frustrating to see legitimate insights get buried under mountains of
baffling non-sequiturs. Frankly, Yagi’s lack of political sophistication is
downright face-palm worthy. She constantly levels charges of hypocrisy against
western environmental groups, using policies of the American government as
ammunition, but you would be hard-pressed to find a more virulently
anti-American subset than eco-terrorists. Clearly, the Sea Shepherd protester’s
“Thanks, but no Yanks” t-shirt was lost on her.

Yagi’s
strategy of highlighting American historical outrages reaches the level of
self-parody when she lets a crank protesting outside the White House rage
against Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Pearl Harbor was no big deal he argues, because
America was already actively working to undermine Japan’s dominance in the
Pacific. Yes, but if he wants to play that game, most historians would argue we
should have been even more proactive countering Imperial Japan, given the war
crimes that were perpetrated during “The Rape of Nanking” and the incendiary bombing
of Chongqing (three years before Pearl Harbor).

How ludicrous is it that a documentary intended
to fisk The Cove ends up
re-litigating the War in the Pacific? There is a fair amount of material in Behind that could embarrass the
anti-whaling syndicate if it were effectively marshaled, but Yagi lets it die
on the vine. It is almost tragic, because the beleaguered good people of Taiji
deserve a better defense. For now, this is what they have. Good luck to it when
Behind “The Cove” opens tomorrow
(11/25) in New York, at the Cinema Village.

Wednesday, November 23, 2016

Tank 432: War is Hell, Like Really

The
M41 Walker Bulldog tank was considered a big step up from its M24 Chaffee predecessor.
Its armoring was much more protective and its weaponry was more effective. The
only drawback was its especially cramped quarters, even by armored tank
standard. You would not want to hole up in one for long with an enemy combatant
and a civilian, but nothing will go according to plan for this military unit—or
perhaps this was the plan all along, for at least one of them. One thing is certain.
They are being played by something or someone, but it is not clear just how
earthly their woes are in Nick Gillespie’s Tank
432 (trailer
here),
which opens this Friday in New York.

The
film opens with the unit in full panic. They have already lost a number of men,
plus the moaning and groaning Capper does not look long for the world. We do
not get a good look at the forces they are retreating from, but they obviously
have the grizzled combat vets badly spooked. As if they needed another cause
for concern, a weaponized powdered substance also appears to be in use. It is a
chaotic scene, but Smith, their commander persists in leading about two hooded
prisoners, who apparently were the objective all along.

As
Reeves (the closest they have to level-headed) and Gantz (the snarling
hard-charger) reconnoiter, they discover a civilian hostage (or whatever)
stashed in a storage locker. She is a bit of a basket case, but their medic
Karlsson has plenty of zonk-out injections. They make quite a motley crew when
the enemy forces them to take shelter in an immobilized Bulldog. A
malfunctioning door trapping them inside makes the situation even more awkward.

In
this hyper-paranoid age, the big twist ending comes as no great surprise, at
least as far as Gillespie can be bothered to reveal it. Having frequently
served as a cameraman on Ben Wheatley’s films (who returns the favor executive
producing Tank 432), Gillespie shows
a similar affinity for slyly implied narrative revelations, except he is
probably even more coy about it.

Fortunately,
he also has Wheatley regular Michael Smiley, who absolutely crushes it as the
not-quite-as-done-for-as-he-looks Capper. He basically revives the film with a
nail-spitting bravura display of hostile attitude. Similarly, Steve Garry’s Gantz
almost single-handedly powers along the first two acts with his hardnosed barking.
These are exactly the kind of performances that make genre films. Gordon
Kennedy also practically chews his way out of the bulldog as the highly
suspicious Smith, while Deirdre Mullins helps ground the film as the gritty but
charismatic Karlsson.

Gillespie earns credit for helming a tense,
unsettling viewing experience. Nobody’s attention will wander during the film,
but it ends on a rather unsatisfying note and it does not add up to very much
when you take stock of it after the fact. Genre fans should still appreciate
his command of the vaguely dystopian near future mise en scene and the vibe of
mounting dread. Recommended for Wheatley fans, Tank 432 opens this Friday (11/25) in New York, at the IFC Center.

Seasons: The Winged Migration Team on Dry Land

There
was a time when Europe was covered in verdant forests. Apparently, they have
not pursued nature conservancy as proactively as we have in America, but at
least they gave us the Renaissance and the Enlightenment while converting vast
areas of land to agricultural and urban uses. Fortunately, Jacques Perrin &
Jacques Cluzaud, the filmmaking team behind Winged
Migration and Oceans, could still
find enough surviving forest habitats for their latest nature documentary, Seasons (trailer here), which opens this
Friday in New York.

Among
nature documentarians, Perrin & Cluzaud have probably crafted the most
inventive strategies for filming wild animals in their natural habitats.
Shooting on land should be easier than the sea and air, but they continue to
capture some arrestingly up-close moments. However, their ambition also
extended to the film’s narrative structure this time around. With their regular
co-screenwriter, Stéphane Durand, they use the changing of the four seasons to
represent the passing of 80,000 years in the forest. They also let the film
evolve into an environmental morality play, with the wasteful folly of man
represented in impersonal dramatic recreation scenes.

As
one would expect, Seasons works best
when it focuses on the animals. There are a number of scenes involving newborn
wolf and fox pups, who are just as cute as wild beasts can ever get. There are
also extended sequences with bears, which are always cinematic. Perrin &
Cluzaud cannot resist filming some of the birds that make the forest home, but
for the most part, the film centers on highly relatable furry mammals.

However,
the scenes involving mankind are (not so surprisingly) often didactic and
awkward. At one point, they suggest the mustard gas employed during World War I
wreaked havoc on the local bird populations. From what I understand, the
soldiers getting gassed weren’t so crazy about it either.

Wisely,
the distributor opted to subtitle the solemn narration, because it most likely
comes off less unintentionally funny via the printed word than through overly
dramatic proclamations. Frankly, there are also one or two
man-as-the-most-dangerous-predator scenes that make us doubt the film’s ASPCA
disclaimer: “no animals were hurt …”

Regardless, when Perrin & Cluzaud stick to
what they do best, Seasons is quite
impressive. The large battery of cinematographers (including Winged Migration and Oceans alumni Michel Benjamin and
Laurent Fleutot) all deserve awards consideration. However, its allegorical layer
is just too pretentious and clunky. Yet, most viewers will still argue the wolf
pups make it worth seeing. For fans of dazzlingly produced true nature films, Seasons opens this Friday (11/25) in New
York, at the Lincoln Plaza uptown and the Landmark Sunshine downtown.

Tuesday, November 22, 2016

The 24 Hour War: Ford vs. Ferrari

Paul
Newman’s team took second place (first in their class) at the 1979 24 Hours of
Le Mans. Steve McQueen wanted to drive the 1970 race for his docu-like drama Le Mans, but he was not allowed for
insurance reasons. However, for fans in the 1960s, the real stars of the
endurance motor race were Ford and Ferrari. Nate Adams & Adam Carolla (the
actor-comedian playing it straight and staying off-camera) chronicle the
rivalry blow-by-blow in The 24 Hour War (trailer here), which releases
today on VOD.

It
makes the head spin in the context of today’s world, but Ford very nearly
acquired Ferrari in the early 1960s. The deal was motivated by racing—Ford wanted
to catch up with Chevy fast—and it fell apart due to racing—Old Man Enzo simply
would not allow for any interference with his management of Ferrari racing. Once
the deal was off, Henry Ford II rolled up his sleeves and built up the Ford
racing operation the old-fashioned way—with buckets of cash.

Sometimes
HF2 got what he paid for with some truly innovative designs and sometimes he
was frustrated by simple engineering flaws. Those were the breaks in motor
sports. Of course, some of those breaks were fatal. Like Frank Simon’s Weekend of a Champion(featuring racing
fan Roman Polanski), 24H War takes us
back to a time when deaths behind the wheel were a regular, weekly occurrence.

Adams
& Carolla observe several intriguing historical ironies surrounding the
rivalry and take stock of the larger than life figures leading their respective
companies. They also have sit-downs with a host of Ford and Ferrari drivers,
who are not exactly shrinking violets either. However, it is rather baffling
that Carolla of all people would give Ralph Nader some camera time to tsk-tsk
the Big Three for marketing horse power.

Regardless, Adams and Carolla keep the film
motoring along at a good clip and they obviously have good rapport with the
motor sports community, having previously collaborated on the even more
entertaining Winning: The Racing Life of Paul Newman. Even if you are not a motor sports fan, you should appreciate
the recent bumper crop of surprisingly engaging racing docs, also including Steve McQueen: The Man and Le Mans. It
is still kind of dull to watch cars race around and around a track, but the
behind-the-scenes stories are fascinating stuff—at least those recorded by
Adams and Carolla. Recommended for sports fans and those interested in the
history of the American automotive industry, The 24 Hour War is now available on iTunes.

Girls und Panzer der Film: The GirlPan Franchise, Feature-Length

Ōarai
Girls High School is basically a charter school with tanks. As is often the
case for charters, the Ministry of Education would like to shut them down, but it
is politically difficult for them to do so, as long as Ōarai keeps winning
their sensha-dō armored warfare matches. Once again, the plucky Oarai tank
crews will have to win to save their beloved academy, but this time they will
have to face off against a seasoned college team in Tsutomu Mizishima’s
(dubbed) anime feature, Girls und Panzer
der Film (trailer
here),
which is currently screening across the country, including tonight in Los
Angeles.

The
Ōarai team commanded by Miho Nishizumi will experience a rare defeat in an
exhibition match. Allied with the more impulsive Chihatan Academy, they lost to
the joint forces of St. Glorianna and Pravda, who sound like they should be
bitter enemies, but this is anime, so whatever. To add insult to injury, the
oily Department of Ed bureaucrat suddenly explains an oral contract is not
worth the paper it is printed on, so he is closing Ōarai despite their
agreement.

However,
thanks to the intercession of a rival’s benefactor desiring a re-match, Ōarai
gets one more chance to save their school, but they will have to face the
university champions, commanded the child genius, Alice Shimada. Ōarai is
vastly outnumbered and outgunned, but they get surprise reinforcements from the
other high school teams, who arrange temporary transfers to even the odds.

Basically,
der Film is two massive tanks battles
separated by a mild bit of fan service. As blueprints for anime features go, it
is certainly a workable plan that takes into account what the franchise’s fans
want and delivers accordingly. The tank action is undeniably supercharged and over-the-top
explosive, but chief animation director Isao Sugimoto and his team make the
battlefield action clear and easy to follow.

Granted,
der Film does not waste a lot of time
on character development, but it is probably assumed most of the audience will
be familiar with the GirlPan crew
from the manga and television anime series. Besides, what’s not to get? They
are high school girls who blast the heck out of each other in vintage WWII
tanks, periodically stopping for a cup of tea.

It
is easy to imagine Newton Minowesque critics of TV and film violence blowing a
gasket over GirlPan’s war games, in
which tanks take direct hits from artillery shells, resulting in a little white
flag dispatched, while the big-eyed crews pile out, safe as houses. It is not
very realistic, but this is a fantastical anime world—and it is a lot of fun.

There is no question, der Film has more screeching metal armored battles than any film
since Fury. Frankly, if you enjoyed
the Brad Pitt WWII movie, you will probably dig the GirlPan anime feature equally well, even though it is much “cuter.”
Recommended for anyone who enjoys watching tanks shoot at each other, Girls und Panzer der Film screens
tonight (11/22) in LA at the Laemmle Royale and next Friday (12/2) in Orlando,
at the AMC Disney Springs. Check the Eleven Arts website for further cities and
dates.

Monday, November 21, 2016

Mifune: The Last Samurai

It
is a story of a film role that got away that rivals Tom Selleck’s nearly
appearing as Indiana Jones in Raiders of
the Lost Ark. While the regretful Selleck was forced out by contractual
obligations beyond his control, Toshiro Mifune could only blame his agent’s bad
advice for turning down what would be the iconic role of Obi-won Kenobi. Yet,
even without the Star Wars franchise,
Mifune has attained legendary status, in great part due to his acclaimed
collaborations with Akira Kurosawa. Steven Okazaki surveys the towering actor’s
life and work in Mifune: The Last Samurai
(trailer
here),
which opens this Friday in New York.

Obviously,
Okazaki had a wealth of historically significant films to draw from, including
arguably the greatest death scene ever in Kurosawa’s loose Macbeth adaptation, Throne of Blood. He also found some tremendously illustrative photos, such as the
montage of sports cars Mifune wrecked during hard-drinking benders. The working
class Mifune essentially fell in acting almost accidentally, but he became the
top Japanese box-office draw of his era and one of its most exportable movie
stars.

Unfortunately,
Mifune acted on a lot of dubious advice during his post-Kurosawa career,
particularly a studio boss’s counsel to start his own production company. When
times got tough, Mifune was forced into television work to keep his company
afloat. None of the footage Okazaki shows from this period will look familiar
to most American Mifune fans. It might be a huge step down from his Kurosawa
classics, but it is Mifune we haven’t seen—and evidently there is a great deal
of it.

Steven
Spielberg would probably only talk about 1941
to pay tribute to Mifune, but he does indeed discuss directing the actor in
one of his least regarded films. We also hear from Mr. Movie Documentary
himself, Martin Scorsese, as well as Mifune’s son Shirô, and Haruo Nakajima, a
contemporary now most closely associated with the Godzilla franchise. Kôji
Yakusho, perhaps the closest contemporary heir to Mifune’s gruff leading man
mantle also provides some context. However, the most endearing moments are
spent with the great-in-her-own-right Kyôko Kagawa, who regrets not having the
opportunity to play a late-in-life Marigold Hotel-style romance with her
co-star from High and Low, The Bad Sleep Well, and Red Beard.

Last
Samurai is a classy film that is so
unflaggingly respectful, its interview subjects often speak in the hushed tones
typically used in church pews and the like. Keanu Reeves’ narration is crystal clear,
but sometimes borders on the reverent. Yet, Okazaki and his interview subjects
deal forthrightly with Mifune’s conspicuous but readily forgivable character flaws.
Most tellingly, the doc puts viewers in the mood to binge watch several dozen
Mifune films, which suggests it is ultimately quite effective. Highly
recommended for all fans of classic cinema, Mifune:
The Last Samurai opens this Friday (11/25) in New York, at the IFC Center.

On the Map: The Miracle on Hardwood

1972
was the worst year ever for international sports. During the notorious Munich
Olympics, eleven members of the Israeli delegation were killed by Black
September, a terrorist organization later revealed to be under the control of
the Fatah wing of the PLO. At the same Munich Games, the final seconds of the
Men’s Basketball Gold Medal match were rigged to allow the Soviets to eke out a
one-point victory. In contrast, 1977 was a great year for international sports,
for reasons also involving Israeli and Soviet athletes. Dani Menkin chronicles Israel’s
unlikely championship run in the 1977 European Basketball Championship and
analyzes its historic legacy in On the
Map (trailer
here),
which opens this week in Los Angeles (and early December in New York).

Maccabi
Tel Aviv was a scruffy club with a fraction of the resources of their European
counterparts. However, they scored a coup when they lured highly touted NBA
prospect Tal Brody away from the Baltimore Bullets. His storied career would be
interrupted by stints of military service for both the U.S. and Israel, but in
1977, he still had the skills and prestige to attract the kind of local talent
and just-missed-the-NBA American players Maccabi needed to compete with the Europeans.

Obviously,
Maccabi did well in 1977, because nobody would make a documentary about a
mediocre season. Many players and commentators compare their European championship
drive to U.S. Hockey’s “Miracle on Ice,” which is particularly apt considering
both teams had to win emotionally-draining, symbolically-charged victories over
the Soviets just to reach the championship matches, but neither story ended
there.

Menkin
assembled all the surviving Maccabi players, including Brody, to re-watch their
celebrated games. They clearly enjoy each other’s company and the sense of fun
is contagious. It is also quite moving to hear from the widow of Jim Boatwright,
Maccabi’s leading scorer. Maccabi center Aulcie Perry is also an engaging
screen presence, but Menkin really does him a solid by omitting mention of his
subsequent issues with drugs and crime. For extra added attitude, Menkin gets
some characteristically colorful color commentary from Bill Walton, who sounds
like an old school Cold Warrior when discussing the Soviet team.

Maccabi’s 1977 season is a great story just in
terms of scrappy underdogs overcoming adversity. It is indeed a David versus
Goliath story set in the nation of King David. However, it takes on far greater
significance when considered in the context of 1970s Israel, particularly with
respect to the Soviet boycott, the lingering pain of the Yom Kippur War and the
Munich Massacre, and the resurgence of national pride following the Entebbe
Raid. In an era when FIFA and the IOC have become synonymous with corruption,
it is refreshing to revisit a time when athletes like Maccabi Tel Aviv could
unite and inspire their country. Very highly recommended, On the Map opens this Friday (11/25) in Los Angles at the Laemmle Royale and two weeks later (12/9) at the Cinema Village in New York.

J.B. Spins

About Me

J.B. (Joe Bendel) works in the book publishing industry, and also teaches jazz survey courses at NYU's School of Continuing and Professional Studies. He has written jazz articles for publications which would be appalled by his political affiliation. He also coordinated instrument donations for displaced musicians on a volunteer basis for the Jazz Foundation of America during the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Send e-mail to: jb.feedback "at" yahoo "dot" com.